After The Fisherman's Rest
by Baroness Emma
Summary: Takes place during TSP - what happened to Andrew and Tony after Chauvelin abducted them? T for angsty language - Tony is a sportsman, remember. This is a special two-shot dedicated to EVERYONE WHO HAS READ MY STORIES! I have 1000 hits! Huzzah! . . .
1. Lord Grenville's Ball

**A/N** I don't own the characters in this story. If you want proof, you can find references to this incident in TSP. Read "The Fisherman's Rest", "The Outrage", "In The Opera Box", and "Lord Grenville's Ball".

**(To all**** SP fans out there**** who are as obsessed as I)** This two-shot is book sourced. I _am_ aware that in the '82 movie, Hastings' first name is Timothy. In the books it's Edward. Much as I like the movies, the books take precedence. When a major studio consents to make an SP movie MY way, then I will consent to care about character's movie names :)

Enjoy!

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**Lord Grenville's Ball**

Little Suzanne flitted away towards her mother. My Lord Hastings, who had just danced a gavotte with her, was discussing her merits with Lord Antony Dewhurst.

"A demmed lucky man is Sir Andrew, what?" said Hastings with a chuckle, "She's got the pluckiest eyes in England! Lud! The last Frenchy I "escorted" was a sixty year old man! Don't think he _had_ eyes anymore."

"Tush man!" warned Dewhurst, with feeling, "I say! we're hardly alone!"

The ballroom at Lord Grenville's London house was quite full of merry young people dancing the night away, and to speak of such things as the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel was to ask for far more attention than either young man could at that moment afford.

Hastings face fell somewhat, but Lord Tony went on merrily, "Odd's life, but you're right about that little lass's eyes! What a gentle vixen for Sir Andrew! At the Rest she even had pluck enough to defy that dowager mother of hers."

"Ah yes! The Rest!" said Lord Edward, eagerly grasping Lord Tony's arm, "You haven't yet told me about your daring escape."

Tony scanned the room surreptitiously, "It was hardly that. . ." he murmured, "And anyway. . . Zounds man! you know orders!" His recent experience had made Tony rather more careful than it had previously been his wont to be. Lord Grenville's ballroom was hardly the place for a piece of clandestine storytelling. But. . . then again. . . he didn't see Chauvelin - that little rat! - no doubt Percy was keeping him well busy. So perhaps. . . perhaps, it would be safe.

"Well. . ." said Tony, still looking cautiously around, "Alright, Hastings. Let's find a quiet corner."


	2. The House on the Dover Road

**The House on the Dover Road**

After the flashing pain between his eyes, My Lord Antony Dewhurst first became aware of the smell of a horse blanket. Was he in France, riding pell-mell over the miles with some rescued aristo clutching onto him? And had they now paused for sleep in some disused barn? The smell of the straw was strong enough and, Lud! he was sore. His head ached most dreadfully. Oh Gad! That was it! The Fisherman's Rest. . . the secret orders from Sir Percy. . . the sudden attack from. . . from. . . well. . . it must have been that Chauvelin fellow, mustn't it? Damn him! And he had probably filched the papers too. . . A long string of oaths ran appealingly through Lord Tony's head, but he had to remain silent, for he now realized that his mouth was gagged.

He gave an experimental squirm, and found that his arms and legs were pinioned, his eyes blindfolded, his body bruised and aching - _and_ he was roughly covered with a smelly horse blanket. Lud, what a fix! But, it was the thought of losing the papers - the secret orders from a beloved chief - that made Lord Tony's head reel. Gad! What a cowardly thing Chauvelin had done to him! To be pounced on in the night and searched and trussed like a common ruffian. . . Well! Tony squirmed again, but the bonds that held him were quite tight. Damn. There was nothing for it. He would have to use his brain. Now then, what was to be done? What had the orders said? Remember man! Your leader's life may depend upon your memory! Sir Percy had ordered him and Hastings off to meet St. Just on the second. . . he had warned them about Chauvelin. . . he had warned them not to meet in public - or at all, if they could help it - and. . . and there had been something else too. . . Hadn't there?

"_Morbleu!_ Wake up!" a French-accented voice interrupted his thoughts. Lord Tony heard a kick - but didn't feel it - then the gag and blindfold were suddenly off his face - and there beside him was the dark blond head and clear boyish features of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. Poor Andrew was wincing from the kick in the side the guard had given him, and he looked much the worse for wear, but otherwise, he was hearty enough. Both men's hands were tied in front of them, so that when a hunk of hard bread was thrown to each, they were able to eat - after a fashion. Dewhurst stretched his neck and jaw, shook his head to clear it, then turned to Sir Andrew.

"Demmed sort of bed and breakfast we've put up in, hey m'lad?"

"Aye, demmed sort," muttered Sir Andrew sleepily - obviously he was unhappy, and probably suffering more of headache than Tony was.

"Silence!" roared one of the French guards peremptorily. "You will be silent, no? Then we will have no unpleasantness, yes? Good!"

The two men became assiduously silent.

After that, the guards lapsed into a strange, casual, almost uncaring attitude. They played cards, murmured inane French gossip, smoked, ate and slept by turns. They seemed to take no notice of their prisoners, save to make sure they were well trussed, and to shush them if they made a sound. They asked no questions of the two unfortunate members of the League, but at intervals they did shove them chunks of bread, and when they felt like it, mugs of water.

An uncomfortable day followed, but the lack of luxury scarcely marked the two young men. They had often endured far worse conditions than this in company with - and at the express order of - the Scarlet Pimpernel, their chief. But, the lack of merry talk, the inability to communicate at all - save with winks or vague hand signals - and the lack of anything to do save sit, crouch, or lay on a pile of straw, tried their nerves harshly.

It was a weary long time they lay or sat on that pile of straw in that ramshackle room - two days more, at least - and each trying to bolster the others' spirits with nothing more than smiles, or an occasional wink. And though it all there was this something. . . something. . . nagging at Lord Tony. Once, when their two watchers were either asleep or outside, Tony whispered, "Dem it, Andrew! There's something on my mind. Or _in_ my mind, I should say, for I'm demmed if I can figure out exactly what I'm thinking of. Something to do with that mysterious bit of paper, right before. . ." he gestured with his head at the sleeping guard.

"Yes man, I've been waiting for you to ask!" whispered Sir Andrew, "And I can say one word that will ease your mind completely."

"You can?! Faith, my good man, out with it!"

"Grenville," said Sir Andrew, looking sly askance at the snoring guard, "With the bump on the head those two gave us right after that, it's no wonder your memory was shaken. Mine was too, for a bit."

"Grenville's ball. . ." Lord Tony sighed. Quite apart from the present situation, Tony did hate to miss a dance. "Do you think we'll have to skip it, after all, Ffoulkes?"

"Perhaps, but I don't think so, Tony. You see, you are forgetting something else very important."

"Am I? What?"

Ffoulkes grinned, "Our Patron Saint, my lad. She'll look after us - she has before!"

Dewhurst let forth a low chuckle, "Ha ha! Our Lady Luck! . . of course! I was forgetting. We'll be alright then, even if we do miss the ball."

"Especially if we do!" said Ffoulkes with feeling, "My good man, the Scarlet Pimpernel won't leave us in the lurch. Just watch, it'll all come right in the end."

Tony smiled, but said no more, for the second guard had come back in just then, and shot a warning look at the two young men.

Now, it was three days of silent lying in the straw, and My Lady Luck had not yet appeared. But she was there, peeping around the corner with impish glee, her bald head and one golden hair gleaming with promise. That very night, Chauvelin's two stooges untied their prisoners, unbarred the door, left two splendidly fresh saddled horses tied to the gate, and promptly disappeared themselves.

The two young gallants could hardly believe their luck when it came.

"La, Sir Andrew!" said Tony almost cheerily, "We shan't draw rein 'till London, will we?"

"No, I don't suppose we shall, Tony," said Ffoulkes. But he sounded grave. "We must get to Grenville's ball, at any rate."

"Just think of a gavotte with your Suzanne, my lad. That will get us there in time!" Tony was eager to start.

But, as they both sprang onto the horses and rode away from that odd little house on the Dover Road, Dewhurst had the strangest impression that the house was singing at him. . . mockingly singing a lilting British hunting song into the ear of his conscience -

_A-hunting we will go!_

_A-hunting we will go!_

_We'll catch a fox,_

_Put him in a box,_

_And then we'll let him go. . ._

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This is what happened after the Fisherman's Rest. . .

So _now_ you know. . . the REST of the story! Yes, I'm sorry for the pun, but I couldn't resist it!


End file.
